Mistakes
by Moon's Smile
Summary: She was Ayuzawa Misaki. She hated men. She didn't believe in romance. She wasn't supposed to see him again. She wasn't supposed to kiss him. She was Ayuzawa Misaki. She certainly wasn't supposed to get pregnant with his child. Because there were some mistakes that couldn't be fixed. –Usui/Misaki–
1. Reunions

**Yeah...umm...hi. I'm here with a new story. This one just sorta forced itself to be written. I'm taking a lot of risks by uploading this so...I hope you enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: Kaichou Wa Maid-sama is owned rightfully by Fujiwara Hiro. I'm just a crazy fangirl...**

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_Chapter One: Reunions_

Sometimes, Misaki loved Sakura to death. Maybe because both of them had been best friends since the very beginning. Seika's demonic student council president, the bubbly pink-haired girl, and the stoic bespectacled Shizuko had been inseparable ever since middle school.

However, in situations like these, Misaki wanted to strangle Sakura until her head exploded.

Her hands were gloved in silk, and they felt awkward holding the colorful bouquet of flowers. The atmosphere was cheery, filled with too many senseless emotions. The raven-haired woman could almost taste the romance swirling in the air, along with the good wishes, down-right impatience, and suggestive intentions. It was indeed the perfect atmosphere for a wedding. Something that fit wonderfully, sort of like a snug corset or gaudy, brilliantly crimson pumps. Because the six-inch heels of her shoes were digging into her feet painfully; she shifted her weight from leg to leg and all she wanted was for this damn reception to be over.

Impatience was seething within her corpse along with a brewing of malice in her eyes. They twitched, just like her lips trying to maintain a lopsided grin. To anyone else that grin would have looked like a murderous smile, just adding the heat to her glare. Like it helped, the hideously lavender dress she was forced to sport was itchy, too frilly and far, far too uncomfortable, not to mention it completely was _not_ Misaki. It most certainly did not fit her demonic and superior image (she thought her image was superior, anyway). Unfortunately, the pink-haired girl she called "best friend" had a small obsession with cute, frilly things. Just perfect.

So, it was established that Misaki hated weddings. Sort of. She couldn't help but feel she stomach twinge with guilt because this was Sakura's wedding. She should have been happy for her, that cute little girl finally marrying her high school sweetheart. Of course, if that damn Kuuga didn't treat the pinkette correctly, he'd be lucky if he slipped out of Misaki's fingers alive. She loved her best friend, of course, but weddings? Not so much.

It also didn't help that a _certain_ pair of jade green emeralds was piercing into her. The stare was almost suffocating. It was actually rather cool in the reception hall but Misaki could practically feel the thin sheet of perspiration covering her skin. That wasn't good.

"I do." It was almost sad to see that innocent little Sakura spurring such adult and life-sealing words. The twinkle of love in her eyes when Kuuga slid that ring on her finger was almost camera-worthy, a look that Misaki had to forever imprint onto her brain because she had a feeling she'd never have that sparkle in her eyes. No man would ever put a ring on her finger, or bend down on one knee and propose, or even tell her "I love you" because Ayuzawa Misaki didn't believe in love.

Yes, she was one of _those_. Irrational, hater of romance and men, and forever single. Misaki's life was devoted to work. Not men. Not love. Not marriage. Not _certain_ blonde-haired aliens. Suzuna could give Minako grandchildren. Because she sure as hell was _not_ going to.

Misaki should have been ecstatic to see her best friend so happy, so joyful, finally getting married to the man of her dreams. The ravenhead was happy, truly, but _Usui Takumi was making everything so damn difficult and urgh she hated him so much. _

Again, she sometimes _hated_ Sakura for being an idiot.

Why in the _fucking_ universe would she invite Usui _fucking _Takumi to her _fucking_ wedding?

A sigh passed Misaki's lips, exasperated and a little disappointed. _'When did I become so selfish?_'

Ayuzawa Misaki was _not_ selfish, mind you. She was just irritated. Yes, she was an angry person.

She had to blink a few times and shake her head to realize the ceremony was over and the booze had been unleashed. Mind-splitting music, mind-numbing liquid, and mind-scarred-because-they-were-so-horrible dancers just summed up Misaki's annoyance into straight and seething frustration. She never did like to partake in such vulgar activities.

A voice crammed up inside her brain and she could feel the angry scream bubbling up in her throat. _"It's your best friend's wedding. Loosen up a little, would ya?"_

A strangled groan, "Shut up, voice."

She settled with just standing in the corner, watching the idiots dance and drink their heads off, engulfed and shrouded safely in shadows so no one would notice her. But of course, _of course_, he _had_ to notice her. He _always_ noticed her.

One thing was for certain: she hated Usui Takumi with a burning passion.

She saw him stride up to her, all nonchalant and non-caring and with an air of coolness surrounding him amidst the heat and hustle of the drunken fools. His hair was still a platinum blonde, all shiny and tousled in the slightest, and he wore glasses now. His emeralds were still bright and reflecting off the thin-rimmed spectacles.

A lump constricted her throat; she swallowed painfully before twirling one strand of ebony hair; most of it was pinned by a butterfly clip, save a few tresses flying about and chewing the edges of her face. She wanted to forget. Solemn, unwanted memories filled her brain and her heart and she felt drowned within herself, in the decapitated memories of a past she wanted to forget. Unfortunately, she had wanted to melt those memories away, into an ocean of secrets and forgotten emotions, but that never happened. Because _she wasn't in love with Usui Takumi. _

He was still stalking towards her; the distance between them was dangerously decreasing. She didn't want that. He ran a terse hand through his luminous hair almost casually, so carefree, and a breeze of nostalgia washed over her. She felt unclean. So she cleansed herself with alcohol.

She ran away from the corner, away from him, and to a waiter. Quickly, she stole two large glasses of champagne and downed both in seconds. The liquid felt toxic, slipping passed her lips and gliding down her esophagus. She felt poisoned. But it felt good, bitter, but perfectly numbing. It was just what she needed.

She had been stupid, once. She had been in love with Usui Takumi once but never, _ever_ again. That was behind her. She would never be so stupid and pathetic ever again. It was over. She grabbed another glass and gulped it all in one swig. This time, it stung her mouth even more but it still felt good. She felt cleansed, but not completely cleansed. She could still think clearly. She could still walk correctly. That wouldn't do. She needed more, way more, until she was heaving and wobbly and in a dream world, until she forgot the real world and painful memories even existed. She wanted to escape. She needed more, more, mo–

"Ayuzawa."

A hand clamped on her arm, and she still had all her senses. That wasn't good.

She hated reunions, because they were stupid and unnecessary.

It was cautious, but slowly and uncertainly, she turned around; her hand stopped midway trying to catch another glass. Emerald met amber and they almost made an electric yellow, sizzling and sparking until they caught on fire. He was much taller than she remembered, or maybe she was just short. His hand was stronger, bigger, and dare she admit, warmer.

Wide-eyed and almost shaking from the venomous alcohol, she gazed up at him. His pupils were focused on her and only her, eyebrows thinly knitted and mouth pressed in a tense line. His lips looked a lot smoother. Why wasn't she drunk yet?

"I think you've had a little too much alcohol." His voice was a lot smoother than she remembered. Smoother, deeper, and hoarser. Like a lullaby. She wanted to sneer _"I'm not drunk yet, idiot"_ but she held back because he was holding her. When had she ever been afraid of him? Why wasn't she drunk yet?

Dumbly, her eyeballs jumped from his face to his hand pressing her arm. "…And you're holding me because…?" It escaped her lips as a sarcastic remark rather than an actual question. Damn it.

And there it was, that signature smirk, lips so beautifully tugged upwards on one side. Now she remembered why all the women swooned over him. "That's nice to say to someone you haven't seen in years."

'_Maybe I don't want to see you.' _

The words wanted to be voiced but she couldn't push them passed her lips.

The grip on her arm loosened and eventually, he let go. He just stood in front of her, amongst the booming crowd, one hand on his hip, the other hanging limply by his side. To him, probably, the crowd was reduced to only him and Misaki. To Misaki, he wasn't there, and it was only the crowd and the pumping music. She felt the ghostly throbbing of a headache coming along. She didn't want him in front of her.

A hasty, quick but demanding statement, "I want to talk to you." She was a bit caught off guard, just a bit.

Why wasn't she drunk yet?

She evaded his eyes, looked at anything but him. He wasn't there. She still didn't understand how stupid she had been before. It was so unbelievable. There was Sakura, smile wide and eyes jumping as she danced with her husband. There was Shizuko, dressed in the same ridiculously lavender dress Misaki had on, all glaring eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses and mouth delicately bowed. There were many others, so many others, except him. Usui Takumi wasn't there, he wasn't in front of her, and he wasn't peering down at her because she was not in love with him.

There wasn't a way for her to respond; the ability to speak escaped her choked throat and she settled with just being silent, with a twitching jaw and tapping foot.

He seemed confused, or perhaps expecting, "Well...?"

She eyed him incredulously, tongue still burning with champagne, but she still wanted more.

"What's there to talk about?" The rough question of truth shoved passed her lips before she had a chance to stop it. Something akin to malice was dripping in her tone, even though she had never intended it to be so rudely worded.

He didn't seem to mind. It was almost like he was rather used to her acidic behavior. It didn't seem that she had changed over years. Just maybe, she wished she had matured. She wished she had been able to forget. She wished she could have changed. But no. The only thing that changed was her reflection in the mirror, because she didn't seem to recognize herself anymore. Who was that girl in the mirror?

Why wasn't she drunk yet? Her thoughts were overwhelming. It was too much; the puddle in her skull was overflowing and spewing out tears that she didn't dare let shed. It was turning into a sea; she was in too deep to ever come back up. She was drowning.

It seemed Hinata noticed the little meeting between the blonde and ravenhead. Big brown eyes were wide and staring; Misaki felt the weight of it and her shoulders were slumping. It seemed the weight was driving her crazy because before she knew what she was doing, before she knew who she was or what was going on, she grabbed Usui Takumi's wrist and led him away from the bustling and succumbing crowd. She felt succumbed. She felt compressed. She wasn't drunk; she had her senses so where was she leading him? Why was she doing this?

He wasn't the least bit startled, as if he knew she would do this. Apparently, he knew her better than herself. He knew her every move, before she even made it, emeralds wide and staring like a predator to prey and she felt he'd successfully catch his prey soon, without trouble or worry. Because she, unknowingly, had already fallen in his clutches and she was stuck there forever. She could never get out.

Before she knew it, before she knew anything, she had already led him to her destination. The women's bathroom. She was foolish.

"You do realize I'm a guy, don't you?" It was witty and teasing and grated on her nerves.

"I know." It was straight and stone. _'If you weren't a guy, I'd have a lot of explaining to do to my mother...' _she added mentally and refrained from smacking herself.

He eyed her from his height, jades shielded by the thin glasses and they reflected the dim light of the restroom.

"What did you..." Her voice was gone. "What did you want to talk about?" Her voice was failing her and she hated it. Pretty soon she wished she hadn't said anything at all because she was afraid of what was to come. Wasn't she supposed to hate him? She wouldn't go back to being so stupid but here she was. More foolish than ever.

A nonchalant shrug of the shoulder, a slight head jerk, and then, "How long has it been?" There was a tinge of exasperation and dare she admit sadness in that smooth voice. Shrilly.

She didn't respond straight away, bathing in deafening silence because she herself didn't know how long it had been. How long for what, she thought. How long ago he had left? How long ago she had been so dumb? How long ago she started hating herself and him? She didn't know.

She settled with something she didn't want to ask but it was killing her and strangling her. She needed to know. "How is...How is Elena?" Longing, quiet, murderous because she was disintegrating inside. Tears stung but she wouldn't dare let them shed. The question sucked the air out of her lungs.

A solemn chuckle, almost solemn. "It's not Elena; it's Angelica." It was a fact of certainty that she knew that woman's name, very well, in fact, but she had let herself be mistaken just this once. Because she did not want to remember that name. She did not want it to seem like she cried at night thinking of the name that would never be hers. "She's doing alright."

A slow but certain nod, "Is she here?" She craned her neck backwards to search but she knew that woman wouldn't be there.

"No." His hair swiveled with a slight shake of the head. "She came with me to Japan, but she wasn't feeling well enough to come to the wedding with me." Eyes glued to the wall. "She was telling me how upset she was, and how she wanted to meet everyone."

Misaki nodded in an affirmative way. "I...I would have liked to meet her as well."

She tried not to think. She drained the ocean of thoughts in her head because suddenly, she felt exhausted of thinking. No more thinking, no more feelings, no more tears.

"You seemed angry at the ceremony." He broke the daunting silence and she wished he hadn't. "Weddings aren't your thing, are they?" A somewhat of a demonic glare from her lemony eyes.

"It's Sakura's wedding and I am the Maid of Honor," she stated in a deadpan manner. "I had to be here." As if for emphasis, she ruffled the skirt of her dress in an annoyed way. She noticed he couldn't contain the slight twinkle and chuckle.

"You haven't changed." It was a statement rather than a question. It was voiced as if he had been the first one to acknowledge it. But no, he wasn't. He wasn't.

"I know." With a huff, she crossed her arms and felt the need to add, "Idiot Usui." Funny, she felt the need to scream at delinquents because she wished she could go back to those days, where everything was easy, to a time before she became so stupid. Before it all happened.

Silence fell over them, but there was a sickening ringing in her ears and a sickening feeling in her gut. She didn't know what was going on, how it happened, what she was doing or what was going on. She wasn't drunk; she knew that for a fact. She had her senses, and she was thinking. She was well aware of what she was doing. She wasn't in love with him. She wasn't in love with him. She couldn't be in love with him.

He wasn't hers.

The silence became too much, eventually, after the fleeting passing moments. She felt overwhelmed; his scent (sharp and sweet and what brand was that cologne?) was engulfing her and suppressing her and she almost watched to retch. Her stomach twinged inside her abdomen and she felt like fainting. She hadn't missed him at all. She didn't want to see him again. She didn't want to see him again. She wasn't drunk. But his eyes shimmered and she was pretty sure hers were swimming in lust. Suddenly she turned into the predator, mouth watering and demanding. His tie was loosened and she wanted to rip that silly suit off him. What happened to hating romance? She wasn't drunk.

Reunions were foolish. And unnecessary.

"I missed you, Ayuzawa."

She was aware, too aware of what she was doing.

It was blurry, like her mind had shut down and just became a haze of colors before her. Cloudy, black and white, and dreary, but like a camera her mind was snapping photos of what was happening and what should've happened and what could have happened.

She should have turned around when they stopped talking. Instead, she cupped his cheeks with her hands, feeling the skin. He was warm beneath her fingers, but his eyes widened just a fraction.

She should have left the bathroom, gone back to the drinking and never looked him in the eye again that night. Instead, she got on her tip toes and brushed her lips over his.

Perhaps it was the expected response from being separated for so long. She wanted him, like a man wanted money. She craved him. It was disgusting. Repulsing, maybe.

She kissed him fully, passionately, angrily, and she couldn't pull away.

She then heard a soft "Ayuzawa, _stop_," between kisses. But then everything shut down. It all disappeared.

The next thing she knew, she woke up, bathed in sunlight, legs sore, naked, and in Usui's arms.

There was no throbbing headache. There was nothing but sadness.

Why hadn't she been drunk?

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**...I'm done here. How was it? In case anyone is confused, Misaki is NOT drunk. This is a little vague and weird but everything will be explained later on. **

**To my Shameful readers: Shameful has not been abandoned. I will update it soon. This is just a little gift for being absent for so long. :P  
**

**Was it good? Bad? Awesome? Terrible? Was anyone OOC? Any mistakes? I'm so nervous about this so...review and tell me how I did. :)**


	2. Save the Stars

**Hello. I've finally managed to write chapter two. I had trouble. Yurp. Am I late? I think I am...**

**Well...Enjoy. **

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_Chapter Two: Save the Stars_

The sunlight was like a paint, splashing in from the windows and tinting the room with a soft orange glow. The sun had barely risen, peaking over the horizon, as if to mock her.

There was no way she could identify her surroundings. From what she remembered, she had come back to her apartment last night. Her comforter looked the same plain blue as if always did. But there was a muscular arm obstructing her view from the world, her hands pressed against a lean build, and legs tangled with toned ones.

There was no headache, and it pained her to admit it. There was a throbbing in her thighs, but besides that, there was nothing else. There was nothing but overflowing emotions, spilling out in the pool of her heart. She bit tears back, because Ayuzawa Misaki never cried. And she never thought she'd ever cry in the arms of Usui Takumi.

Some mistakes never could be taken back.

She tried to shuffle out of his embrace, out of her blanket so the cold air could run goose bumps on her skin. Gently she lifted his arm and placed it at his side. There were clothes scattered everywhere, his suit in shreds along the ripped remains of her very lavender dress.

She looked back at him, sleeping soundly, emeralds closed, breathing level and full. She noticed red crescent moons peppered over his arms and shoulders; she was sure his marks were staining her skin as well.

Maybe it was the reaction of seeing him after so long. Because she wanted to see him, longed to see him; she missed him more than anything, just like the sky was blue and grass was green. Maybe it was because she was desperate. The regret, the stupidity, the impatience, it was all too much for her. The denial she etched into her head was mind numbing, because _she was still in love with Usui Takumi. _

And she felt ashamed, because she realized that _after_ sleeping with him and waking up next to him.

Or maybe it was the fact, she bitterly acknowledged, that _she could never be his._

She remembered a faint whisper brushing against her lips, something along the lines of _"Stop, I don't want to hurt you." _She wanted to laugh, because that was completely unlike him, so out of character that she was sure he wasn't the same person anymore. It wasn't like she hadn't changed either. She hadn't changed to him, but inside, she knew she'd never be the same.

And then that name came into her head, Angelica, like an angel. The name that could never be hers, the fiancée of Usui Takumi, his angel. Misaki had been Usui's angel once, but that was a long, long time ago, before she had been stupid. She almost couldn't remember that time; they had faded away like dull paintings on a wall, statues rotting and breaking, just the like the sun leaves the world with the moon at night, and with the stars.

Suddenly, the indentations on her palm were very interesting, and she traced each one with the pad of her thumb. They were the hands that had once been entangled with his.

A stir from beside her; he arose slowly, with a strangled groan and hand shielding his eyes from the peeking sunlight.

The look her gave her seemed as if an oncoming truck was speeding his way.

"Ayuzawa."

She kept the blanket high on her chest with a shaking hand, not like it mattered then. Jewels wide, blonde tresses ruffled, tan skin stained with the rusted red from the scratches her fingernails had left; she refused to look at him, kept her eyes stray from his face because if she looked at him again, the numb pain wouldn't be numb anymore. And the scream bubbling at the edge of her throat would be unleashed.

He wouldn't have looked so shaken; this whole situation wouldn't have been so bad if wasn't for Angelica.

"The last thing I want is for you to be unfaithful."

The sentence tore passed her lips, slashed them and made them bleed, before she had the chance to stop it.

He looked at her as if that was the expected response. It surely wasn't.

There was no anger. There was nothing but straight faces, clenching fingers, and curling toes.

"You should be screaming at me." He chuckled airily, adjusting himself in a sitting position. It was as if this whole ordeal was a huge joke, like a well-oiled violin caught on the breeze, screeching a melancholy sound that brought tears to her eyes. But she wanted to forget this whole thing like she would forget a joke. She never was one for comedy. But a melancholy violin melody never left the mind quickly.

"I should be," she enlightened, and the violin left a deep press on the outer shell of her heart. Maybe with time it would be erased. "But I'm not."

"Why is that?" he asked, mouth releasing an exhausted yawn. She was exhausted as well, both mentally and physically.

"I'm not angry." She was angry, angry that she was so stupid, angry that she let him go, angry at herself because she missed him and she needed him and this whole thing was just _ludicrous_ beyond belief and– "I don't regret anything."

He parroted that look he had given her when he first woke up, but this time it was a million times more painful.

"Not even a little bit?" She shook her head in the negative, tangled ebony strands waving about lazily. He snickered in perhaps ridicule, but in her ears it sounded more remorseful. "We really are different, aren't we?" They had been opposites, him the cool and beautiful heart-breaking idol of Seika, she demonic and man-hating and strict student council president of Seika; they were like the sun and the moon, but they completed each other like the azure waves crashed on the white sand shore.

But in this situation, where a defeated look played gently on his cheekbones, she felt for a second as if he wasn't an idol anymore. He wasn't all cool gestures, confident strides, and heart-stopping smiles. He looked like a beautiful disaster, constrained and controlled on the outside but insides wild like a hurricane. Maybe he was a beautiful fool, foolish for being regretful but she knew she was way dumber than he could ever hope to be.

"This was a mistake, yes," she consulted, finally looking at him and his eyes looked brighter than ever, almost blinding her because he almost looked _hopeful_, "but I don't think I'll ever regret it."

Insides going on fire but mouth perfectly titled upwards in a lilting smile, he answered solemnly, "Thank God. I was afraid that you hated me." Then it came, Seika's idol's perfectly arrogant smirk.

Her mood soured, eyebrows crunching. "You're lucky I don't hate you. Stop the smirking. You still irritate me, though."

"So are you saying you enjoyed it?"

"Idiot!"

With a loud thump, he was on the ground, forehead glowing red with a new bruise. She quickly averted her eyes because the blanket had slipped off him with his fall.

"Stop…being naked," she muttered with a crimson face, hands tightening around her torso. He came back on the bed, that annoying smirk still stretching his lips.

"Does it even matter now?" He was teasing. He had the nerve to tease her.

"I hate you…"

"Ayuzawa…are you sure you don't regret it?"

Usui's tone had wilted to a solemn, apologetic whisper. He reminded her of a frail, decaying rose, with the rotting petals falling off and dancing down to the earth in pain.

There was so much to say, too much she wanted to say, like _I don't regret it at all, I'm still in love with you, I needed this, I'm sorry for being so stupid, even though some mistakes can't be taken back, I'm not guilty, I don't hate Angelica, I've missed you so much, I'm so confused, and angry, and sad but I can't do anything, and I'm so sorry, you can't be mine anymore, I'm trying to let you go but–_

She settled with a curt nod. The words were constricting her throat, rendering her paralyzed, but she couldn't voice them, couldn't push them out because it hurt too much to say them.

"Stop worrying," she chastised him, because it always helped. She had to hide behind a shell, beneath the succumbing thoughts of tomorrow, shielding her inner self from the world because she was Ayuzawa Misaki. A strict façade was all she needed to stop falling apart inside.

There were passing moments of fleeting silence; both sat, frozen, contemplating, wondering.

"Are you going to tell her?"

He gave her a strained look.

"No." Fortunately, she expected that response. But she didn't expect many things.

"I see." Brooding, staring off into space, eyes glued to the wall, he narrowed his gaze.

"This was just a mistake. I don't need to tell her." He lifted himself off the bed and started dressing himself in whatever remained of his previous night's evening wear. "Like you said, I don't intend to be unfaithful to her. She doesn't deserve to be hurt."

To her, it seemed like he was a robot, programmed to enunciate those words and those words only as clear as a crystal, loud and solid, so they could be drilled into her brain and never forgotten.

And then Misaki wondered if Usui Takumi was still in love with her.

He shrugged into his dress shirt, the top few buttons missing. She colored a bright red in her cheeks; she was the one who had caused those couple of buttons to pluck off. She never was patient. He then proceeded to swiftly button whatever was left in his shirt.

"She doesn't deserve to be hurt…at all…" Misaki supplied in a low, falling tone, her voice warning to fail her.

He was fully clothed by now, and then gently tugged on his platinum blonde mane, fingers fixing and arranging the tangled mass into a neater ruffled mess. Her fingers had been busy entangling themselves in his hair last night, she remembered, and it was soft and smooth.

"But then again…" he quipped, picking up his coat and readying his hand on the doorknob. He shot her a look, with dazzling emeralds and a smile that seemed forced. "…No one deserves to be hurt. Right?" She knew that he was being rhetorical and didn't require a response.

And with a swift wave and no words, he was out the door.

And Misaki was left to wonder, wonder, wonder, until her mind was lost in the depths of time.

She was late for her office job.

* * *

It had been a few days since that evening, at Sakura's wedding, at the unpleasant reunion with Usui, and a long, hot night of pleasure stuck in his arms. She hadn't talked to him since that night. It seemed long, long ago, as far away as her days in Seika but as hazy as her future.

There weren't as many thoughts as she thought there would be. She wasn't drowning in an ocean of feelings like before. Her mind was clear, pleasantly void of any constricting feelings or remorseful wondering. She didn't regret her night with Usui. She didn't regret it at all. And she was being truthful.

There were so many other things, so many things she fought to say but couldn't say them.

The vanilla aroma of Maid Latte always calmed her nerves, always made her shoulders lax and made her breathe a hefty sigh of relief.

With a nice "good morning" to some of the customers, Misaki shuffled into the locker room and changed into her uniform. It was the uniform that was filled with so many memories, memories she longed to remember, to keep stashed away in a secret compartment in her heart, never to be touched or seen by anyone else. They were the memories that made her smile, despite herself, despite conflicting emotions, hollow promises, and desperate tears.

But the maid outfit reminded her too much of him. After all, everything began with him catching her in her work uniform.

When she came outside, Subaru-san and the boss were there to greet her. After many years, their smiles were still vibrant and bright, just like the sun, but maybe a little more solemn.

"Good morning, Misa-chan!" Satsuki bellowed with open arms and moe flowers. Subaru gave a curt nod, green hair tied back and glasses gleaming. Misaki gave sort of a forced, jagged but caring smile.

"Morning," she mumbled. Sleep hadn't left her system as of yet, and her eyes were groggy. Erika-san entered shortly afterwards, long dark red curls cascading down her back like a waterfall of blood.

Soon, Subaru-san went to the floor to serve the customers, and Satsuki-san went back to check on the cooking. It wasn't an eventful morning; just regulars stopping by for a cup of coffee. Wednesday mornings never were very busy.

She was left alone with the redhead, all knowing glances and sheepish grins. Misaki felt engulfed in the silence, and made an attempt to walk out with a serving tray.

"Wait." Erika grabbed her forearm. "I want to talk to you…" Open ears and wide eyes, Misaki glanced at the older woman.

"About what?" she asked, with innocent gestures and unknown smiles. Erika bit her lip, unsure.

She finally settled with a question, after brooding. "How was…How was Sakura's wedding?" Misaki lifted en elegant brow.

The ravenhead didn't know what to expect, didn't know how to respond; for some reason, she was antsy, suspicion rising at the ends of her expression. Misaki never did expect anything.

She relaxed her shoulders with a normal, expected response. Misaki didn't like unexpected things. "It was…nice. The dress was fairly uncomfortable, though…" It was honest.

Erika finally let go of Misaki's forearm, and again her teeth latched onto her bottom lip in nervousness. "That's…not what I meant…" She kept her eyes stray from the ravenhead's ambers, kept them glued onto to anything but Misaki. "Usui…You met Usui there, didn't you?"

How did Misaki not sense that this conversation would take such a wrong turn?

She didn't feign keenness because she was surprised, eyes wide only a fraction. Mouth quivering; now she was the one to start biting her bottom lip, tray shaking in hand. "I did meet him there…"

She had met him there, she hadn't wanted to meet him there, she didn't want to be in love with him, she had slept with him but it was a mistake, a mistake she didn't regret, she didn't want him to be unfaithful to Angelica at all…

There was so much to say, so much she wanted to say. But her mouth bled when she tried to let the words escape from her throat.

"You slept with him." It wasn't a question; it wasn't phrased in a frail way, but not hostile either. Erika finally looked at her, crimson eyes shielded and shining with something bordering on remorse, or maybe sadness.

Misaki wasn't fazed; the calm, strict façade she had mastered over the years did not fail her now. It didn't fail her, no wrong crooks or holes. She was glad it didn't fail her; Erika wasn't able to see past it. Perhaps Misaki was blind as well.

"I did…" she admitted, in a lonely, coarse voice. "How did you know?"

"He's been acting weird; you've been acting weird. Plus, I saw you two leave together after the ceremony was over." Erika let out a shy laugh. "Well…I thought it was you two. I wasn't completely drunk, but not quite sober either…"

Misaki let a small smile stretch on her lips."Erika-san, you don't need to worry." She wasn't exactly reassuring, just lemony eyes pleading for the redhead to trust her, believe in her.

A small, perhaps austere smile flitted Erika's lips, high around the edges of a bowed mouth. She believed in Misaki; she did.

But Misaki wasn't exactly sure if she believed in herself.

"Nothing bad will happen. I promise."

After all, vacant, idle promises were made to be broken.

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**Well...You can assume Misaki and Erika got closer over the years. Am I the only one in love with the idea of Usui and Erika being like best friends?**

**Not very eventful was it? Sorry. The interesting stuff is gonna happen next chapter. Stick around. **

**I can't even _begin_ to explain how _happy_ I am with the responses from chapter one. I never expected 25 reviews. Seriously, you guys are incredible! Thank you so much!**

**Questions? Concerns? Comments? Leave me a review. :)**


	3. Quiet Echoes

**Awesome chapter is awesome. I just love losing myself in my writing. I'm happy with this, but also nervous. Very nervous. I noticed that I've completely ruined Usui's character in this story, so I hope this makes up for it. **

**Beware. This originally was the chapter that made me change this story's rating to M. But I decided to keep it T. Sexual situations follow. It's nothing too bad, but be warned. **

**Welp. Enjoy. I apologize for the possible OOCness.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Three: Quiet Echoes**

It was a calm, serene evening, dark sky flitted with a purplish hue and grey clouds. The moon was hidden amongst the puff of the clouds, almost calling out to the world with its eerie glow.

Dresses weren't one of Misaki's favorite things. And stuffy birthday parties in a club weren't either.

Erika's birthday had finally rolled around the corner, quicker than anyone would have suggested (and the funny part was, no one knew her age. "A lady never reveals her true age", she had proudly stated once). Misaki continued looking at the older woman with envy; no matter how old she got, Erika still looked just like an eighteen year-old. It almost wasn't fair.

The atmosphere reeked of alcohol; Misaki felt tipsy from just inhaling the air. She hadn't had an ounce of liquor ever since Sakura's wedding. Liquor didn't work for her. The air stung the pit of her lungs and she felt pity, only because if the alcohol didn't melt away her worries, what good was it? What could it accomplish for her?

She'd felt slightly dizzy in the morning before her office job, stumbling royally with her steps and grabbing her throbbing skull. She hadn't had an appetite as of lately; her body felt weak, scrawny, malnourished, but alcohol was definitely out of the question, even if her lousy friends tempted her with a few shots.

The environment was stuffy, brewing with different emotions and Misaki felt the need to push down the skirt of her dress lower. It was sleek ivory, tight and snugly fit her figure like second skin, showing subtle yet slender curves. Too much skin was showing, most of her legs, her arms, and the top of her breasts. She felt violated, stares of drunken men sticking and paralyzing her body. She sat in the corner, stiffly, in the shadows and darkness so she wouldn't be noticed.

The manager was drinking heartily at the bar, along with Hinata, the birthday girl, and Sakura. Subaru, Shizuko, and Kuuga were hovering over the group, begging the drinking to stop.

Misaki questioned a lot of things, the state of the world, her current romance with Usui Takumi, and her conflicting feelings. But the question that had been eating her insides since she was first invited to Erika's party was…_does Erika have a brain?_

Out of all the places in Japan (scratch that; the _world_), Erika had to choose Club Rainbow to have her party at.

Wonderful.

Misaki never was one to prefer to partake in vulgar activities, no offense to her friends.

A bored tone sounded from across her. "Having fun…?" Misaki ripped her gaze away from the idiotic antics of people and set it behind her, on a familiar green-haired man.

Igarashi Tora was in her same boat, it appeared. "No," the ravenhead sneered, craning her neck back around. She felt Maki's smiling slit-eyed gaze on her back.

"I swear I hate parties…" the irritated man grumpled, shifting his chin to rest in his palm, elbow leaning on the table. Misaki glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, quick and clever, and she fought the groan strangling her throat. He was clad in a slick gray suit, collar messy and buttons undone. He seemed compressed in the stuffy atmosphere.

She turned around, facing him. Why did he choose to sit at the same table she was at? "What are you even doing here?" she snarled, unable to contain the irritation. Her lemony eyes glistened, and she had to scream to get her voice across to him.

"That redhead invited me." He nudged his nose over to the drinking Erika's direction.

Ambers narrowed to slits, Misaki covered her forehead with her fingers, dark tresses brushed away behind her ears. "She doesn't even _know_ you." And then she let escape an exasperated sigh.

Igarashi snorted, examining the crowd with hawk-like eyes. "I didn't even know she existed." Canines unleashed and he stretched his lips wide over his teeth. "When she came to me, she said 'You're one of Misa-chan's friends right? Come to my party!' And she left."

Misaki once again questioned the sanity of Erika.

"And apparently she invited him too." Igarashi pointed his finger to the bar, at a specific blonde standing by the drunken Satsuki. Usui Takumi looked less than elated while trying to figure out where Satsuki's thumb had disappeared to, but he seemed enduring. There was a content yet constrained expression flitting on his features, and Misaki couldn't help but clench her fists.

The melted emotions were coming back, at a time like this. There were like a ghost, haunting her dreams and flooding her mind like silent echoes or comforting whispers. There was no regret from her night with him; but there was sadness. Each day, she was growing certain that he didn't love her anymore. It was as if he was gone, gone to the empty dusty streets, and he'd never be the same again. He was like a forgotten face in the mirror, fogged from unpleasant memories and plagued with hollowness, and so, so unfamiliar. She didn't even recognize him anymore.

She wondered, vaguely, idly, what England had done to him.

Alcohol was thick around her, along with moe flowers and cuteness. "Misa-chaaan!" The syllable was long and stretched too much for Misaki's comfort. Clinging to Usui's arms, Satsuki and Sakura stumbled their way to the ravenhead, all wide grins, shot glasses, and very, very tipsy.

"Manager…Sakura…" She didn't dare look at the blonde in the middle; the overflowing emotions were drowning her. Her heart wasn't big enough to hold the sadness. She felt like she was trapped in a hurricane, and the eye of it was at arm's length but so, so unreachable.

"Have a drink, Misaaaki!" Sakura slurred, holding up her glass, and almost dropping it on top of Misaki's head. Misaki forced a crooked smile, and unintentionally her eyes landed on the blonde. His eyes were glued to hers, emeralds glossed in an unfamiliar emotion, just like his faded face in the mirror.

She believed it was sadness.

"What are _you _doing here…?" Usui Takumi almost hissed, almost questioned, in a voice that sounded both sweet and malicious, head turned to Igarashi Tora.

Igarashi chortled. "You never change. Erina or whatever invited me."

Usui gave a dumbfounded, deadpan expression, Satsuki threatening to tumble out of his grip. He blinked, "But she doesn't even kno–"

Cleanly, swiftly, Misaki cut him off. "I said the same thing. Apparently, she invited him because he's an acquaintance of mine."

And Usui Takumi's eyes softened, to melted, liquid emeralds, dancing in Misaki's pools of lemon. A shadow of a smile stretched his lips, so subtle yet so loud; it was _there_, and it looked pained, but still bittersweet like the chocolate.

"Erika's asking if you're enjoying," he stated, smile growing just a smidge wider. Misaki spared him a glance, a melded glance.

"I don't really like clubs," she answered honestly, in a regular, playing tone, arms crossing over her chest. Where was the sadness? Where was the regret?

"I know." A sweet, curt response that made her avert her eyes, because she couldn't look at him anymore. If she did, she felt she'd collapse. The dizziness in her head returned, just slightly, but she held it back.

Satsuki and Sakura detached themselves from Usui, and proceeded to offer Igarashi and Maki some of their drinks. The men paled, desperately trying to swat the women away.

And then it was just Misaki left with Usui. She felt like she was alone with him, that she was just completely alone, and the hundred people in the club didn't exist right now. It was just her and her perverted outer space alien.

And then came the unspoken words, the silent whispers, his mouth carving the words but not voicing them.

"_I'm so sorry."_

Her world froze. The cascading waterfall of thoughts in her heart froze solid, like in an ice age, but a million times colder. She was an icicle, only sharper.

In an instant, dainty fingers wrapped around his wrist and she led him away, away from the crowd, the hustle and bustle, the mind-numbing noise and throbbing stomachs with alcohol. She led him away, the two safely hidden and safely locked inside a supply closet, with no disturbances and no self-control.

Self-control was limited. She wasn't even sure if she had it anymore.

The environment was cramped, with brooms and mops and buckets lying around the floor around their feet. Her back fig snug against the door, hand still lingering on the doorknob; he leaned against the wall in front of her, hands stuffed in pockets casually, leniently, as if he hadn't a care in the world, as if nothing was eating his mind and making him go psychotic.

They had that in common; too many thoughts, too much reflecting, so much that the hurricane would go crazy, along with their minds jumping along the line separating sanity and insanity. Both didn't know where to stand, where they wanted to stand, so they danced around that line in procrastination.

But the line of succumbing desires and self-control they had drawn was gradually fading away; it wasn't black anymore, bordering on a dusty gray that would be swept away in no time.

But they liked trailing on that line. It felt like a never-ending adventure.

Silence reigned over them, mixing with the awkwardness and forgotten feelings. Both wanted to speak but the words wouldn't come out. Misaki's voice failed her, clawing at the ends of her throat like a wild animal.

But then she remembered those subtle, subtle yet heavy words he had uttered silently with a move of his lips. They hit her, like a boulder right in her stomach; the air was sucked out of her body and she felt numb, tasteless and frail.

Three simple words turned her into such a fragile little doll. Misaki didn't want to be a doll. She was statue, hard, solid, strong, and not plastic like a doll. But a statue breaks too, too easily. And maybe she was just a little frozen stiff inside.

The funny thing was, Usui hadn't even said those words aloud.

She was at a loss on what to say. There was too much to say, so many things, but no time, and will, and emotion. Because she felt she'd begin shedding tears any second now.

Finally, finally, the words escaped her mouth.

"Are you happy?"

There was a booming, deafening pregnant silence, heavy on their limbs because the weight of her question was killing her, pressing her against herself in a way she couldn't process.

He let something of a smile slither on his lips, something faint, just like a ghost.

"Yeah, I guess. The party is enjoyable. Although Satsuki-san and Sakura dru–"

Like a knife, her words cut him off, the sound of her voice bouncing off the walls and pounding in her ears until they bleed.

"I didn't mean that."

And she knew that he knew what she had meant.

That smile he had on his lips disappeared as quickly as it came into nothingness, the remnants of it crackling and falling off his mouth, just like how the snow flurries fall to the ground on a winter day.

And then those remaining pieces were replaced by the most painful smile she had ever seen. Painful, painful, painful, until there was nothing left but numbness and broken shards of a heart that never could be fixed. Emeralds glistened, and she knew his heart was as fragile as glass, shattering and torn apart like wrapping paper on a Christmas morning.

And with a slight shake of the head, her answer was given to her.

"How can I be happy? It's as good as impossible," he murmured, and following it was a slow, grated, humorless chuckle, one that screamed of darkness. There was a lingering darkness inside Usui Takumi, a darkness so rich and black that even she couldn't dye it completely. Most of the darkness was erased but there were still those small specks, those spots that screamed _"There's no light at the end of the tunnel anymore." _

And perhaps, with their disaster of a romance, it was true.

More silence reigned over. She was speechless.

She, too, let out a humorless laugh of her own. "Does Angelica not treat you well?" It was a joke of some sorts, or at least she had intended it to be. But there was no laughing in their situation. There was nothing but despairing.

He kept his eyes stray from her face and at the dusty floor, spectacles sliding down the length of his nose. "I can never fall in love with her."

Misaki let a smile of her own creep onto her mouth, as silent and as deadly as a ninja. She felt playful, like everything was just a joke that she could look back at and laugh about later. But that was just a cover up for the cruel fact that nothing, _nothing_ was a joke. She wished so badly for everything to start over, for this to stop. She wanted beautiful love and laughter, not broken love and tears. And there had been a time when she hadn't wanted any love at all. Those days had been the best. It had been a brighter, more productive time, with an eased mind and an easier smile.

"Why not?" She knew the answer to the question, but then demon of her mind forced her to ask it. Or maybe it was her weeping conscience, begging and pleading for an answer, for some reassurance. A fragile heart often needed reassurance.

"I've always been in love with you, Ayuzawa."

Deathly silence followed.

She felt like she was flying; the huge weight of burden and sadness flew off her shoulders and disintegrated in the stuffy air, as if it never had been there in the first place. She felt elated, so, so abnormally happy and relieved. She had felt insecure, broken that the one she had fallen for had chosen someone else. She was wrong for doubting him, so so wrong.

"I'm sorry if I've ever made you think otherwise," he stated with a sincere edge to the otherwise plain and cracked voice. Something told her he was sorry about other things, about everything, even about the things he shouldn't have been sorry for. "Even if you've denied it, I still think I've really hurt you by sleeping with you." The sadness that had separated from her suddenly returned, hitting her straight in the chest with a painful pang.

"You never hurt me." It was strong, hopefully strong enough to penetrate his brain and sink into the recesses of it. She moved a step closer, just a little closer, and the heel of her pump clicked against a fallen bucket. "I told you. You never hurt me."

And she didn't want to believe that maybe his smile wilted just a little more. He really was a wilted, dying flower, so thirsty and aching for light that it could never bloom again. "You're not lying, are you?"

She was now standing right in front of him, chests almost brushing, almost. "What did they do to you in Britain…?" It hurt her to ask that question, chest constricting and throat choked with rocks. Brow furrowed, amber eyes narrowed in remorse and perhaps fright, because _"I never should have let him go"._

"I'm okay, Ayuzawa." It didn't assure her though. She felt he was lying through his teeth, hiding the feelings of the inevitable, burying the feelings that never should have been there.

"I'm okay, too." She was lying too, lying so smoothly that it scared her. She could not break the perfect stoic façade she had perfected over the dying years, over the years where she regretted everything.

In the end, she had decided she had been foolish to ever fall in love with him, all those years ago. Falling in love with Usui Takumi was like falling in love with the sky; he was unreachable. They had been worlds apart, and now, they were universes apart. And she cursed herself for letting that happen.

"You're lying," he said, straight, simple, clear, but easily misunderstood.

"You're lying, as well." Their chests were brushing now; his eyes were drooping down to stare at her widely, almost tiredly. She was vaguely aware of the lack of space between them, but only vaguely.

Tears stung her eyes. They were the tears that were long overdue to shed, that'd been hiding behind her pupils for so, so much time now that she had forgotten when they had first appeared. They never went away.

A lone tear fell. "I…was so lonely without you." She was shaking, voice unstable and cracking. Fragile hearts always were lonely and weak. She set a hand on his chest, clenching his tie, the other a ball of a fist, pounding at the fabric and skin covering his heart. "Why…Why did you have t–to…leave?" So, so frail, like the most expensive of vases; but there was no one around her that was willing to deal with her heart tenderly. Everyone was cruel, besides Usui Takumi, who managed to capture her heart. Although he played around with it and tested the strings, he was sincere. And she had been more than willing to give her heart to him. She was so trusting.

She bowed her head, bangs shadowing reddening eyes, too embarrassed to look at him. "Why…Why did you have to get…e–engaged?" She knew she was being more than a little selfish. But once in a while, wasn't it okay to be a little selfish, after giving everything to a world that didn't deserve it?

Attentively, slowly, unsurely but surely, he placed his arms around her, threading his fingers at the small of her back. He had gotten taller. "I'm too busy pleasing the people around me."

It was a response so empty she felt the need to fill it up, despite the tears. "Isn't it alright to be selfish once in a while?" She sniffled; the tears still came.

"Maybe so."

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. It was warm, a beautiful gesture that she missed so, so much. He rested his chin in her hair, before he lifted her chin and planted the most gentle of kisses on her forehead, as if asking, pleading, as if he was asking permission for wanting her.

"Would you…" a long, unsure pause, when she swallowed the pebbles blocking her throat, letting them scrape her lungs, "be willing to cheat on your fiancé?"

Because in the end, they both knew all too well it would come down to this, that little question.

It hurt as much as they thought it would, or maybe more. Reality was a cruel thing. Love was a cruel thing.

Their affair had begun.

His grip around her tightened, and he buried his nose into the crook of her neck.

"It's shameful." The words were whispered against her skin, reverberating against it and she fought a shiver. And silently, gently, brokenly, he kissed the spot where his nose had been just before, and then he kissed her shoulder, tentatively, and sadly. He kissed the tears away, salty on her cheeks. Each kiss was warm, so smooth and she missed the feeling of such a soft, soft kiss that held so much want. "But I am willing."

She found it hard to breathe, and she was falling deeper and deeper within herself, a constant struggle to be released from the demon of desire howling within her. She breathed him in, mind-numbing and intoxicating scent fusing within the pits of her lungs, the feeling still driving her insane. She kissed him hard on the lips, but still gentle, nibbling on the pink skin and tongues battling mercilessly for dominance. There were so many heated caresses, silk skin going electric like lightning, air scorching and the need for the other's touch growing wild, like an untamed beast.

Bleary lemony eyes, dazed jade eyes, and then she felt lips on her neck, suckling and biting sensually, hands roaming the body underneath her skimpy dress; she wanted the dress and his shirt off. Then she was pushed against the wall, not enough to be hurt, and her legs wrapped around his waist, straddling him. Muffled groans, melting moans, and soon she felt hands stroking her chest and thighs and all the skin in between. They ripped at her dress, tearing it apart, and she clawed at the layers of his suit; they were like armor, and she was frustrated.

She ran slim fingers through his hair, tangling the golden strands and pulling them. He nipped at her collarbones, at her breasts, at her stomach, and everywhere beneath that. She writhed, shouted, panted, and fought to be even with him. And then came the anger. Every touch, every kiss made them break a little more inside. They had already been cracked, such vulnerable glass on the verge of completely shattering mercilessly. But now, it was too much. They were broken completely, beyond repair, beyond belief. There was no turning back now.

She felt like crying when he kissed her in the most sensitive places, clothes off and discarded, skin against skin in a heated fire of lust and passion and pain. There was too much pain to handle, so many thoughts amongst the blaze of desire, and _Angelica_ was clawing at the edges of her mind. She was going insane, but she squirmed and screamed in pleasure at the way he touched and kissed her, calm, lustful, needing, pleading, crying, ripping apart. That ripping feeling was forever imprinted on the deep press of her heart with a permanent marker. And no eraser in the world could make it go away.

She kissed him everywhere she could; he kissed her everywhere he could. There were no more words, nothing to say, just the endless ocean of forgotten feelings reemerging. They were tumbling along the path to destruction, to hell, and there was no way back. They were digging their own grave. But lust was troublesome; lust was something inescapable. Life was cruel like that. He touched her and she touched him and both loved it. He kissed her entire body, skin slick with sweat and sliding against each other. It was wrong, so, so wrong. It was so wrong. And that bitter realization tore them apart just a little more, if that was even possible.

The last time their naked bodies were tangled like this, there was no regret.

However, this time, they were drowning in an ocean of remorse. And there was no one there to help them.

Why was infidelity so, so painful?

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**Long. I wrote this while I was rather upset, so I hope it wasn't too depressing. I barely proofread, so please feel free to point out any mistakes. And it may seem that I overused the "broken inside" concept thingy, but that was intentional. I wanted to emphasize how painful an affair actually is, for them at least.**

**Your reviews. Oh lord. You guys are incredible. Seriously, I love you. **

**I'd love for you to tell me what you liked, what you disliked, and how you think I should improve. I'm iffy about this chapter, so drop me a review. :)**


	4. Steps to Hell

**Hi. Do you still remember me? I hope you do. **

**I'm _so_ sorry for the late update. I've been kinda busy, and all the things I've been publishing have been written in school. This chapter was written during class as well. Yeah, I write instead of paying attention to the teacher. I'm a badass. **

**Anyways, this is chapter is kind of short and rushed, but I need to get it out here and let your wait end.**

**Enjoy!**

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_Chapter Four: Steps to Hell_

She again woke up to sunlight spilling from the window, arms entangled around her, a masculine scent lingering in her nose, too much for her to ignore it. It was like it was trapped in her nose, indented into her lungs forever and ever.

The hue of orange light pierced her eyelids; she was woven into her comforter, legs sore, and Usui's arms were wrapped around her protectively, as if nothing could make him let go.

She knew he would have to let soon.

She gently shook him awake, about to tell him that it was "time to leave", like always. But he was so peaceful, eyes gently closed, snoring lightly, lashes brushing the high curve of his cheekbone. She kissed his forehead, hands slightly combing the mess of a platinum blonde head he had, which was entirely her fault. Snickering slightly, she held him tighter in her arms, tighter than ever before.

The realization that he wasn't hers had such an effect on her.

The first time there was no regret; this time there was mountains of regret, so much that she felt the numbness enveloping her body, rendering her paralyzed in an ocean of her own stupidity.

Tossed broken pieces were very difficult to pick up, almost impossible. She strained, reached out for the pieces of his heart that were scattered, trying to cradle them against herself so she at least could heal him, if not herself. But those pieces were so sharp, cutting her like glass, making her bleed. And they were so far away, even if they were at arm's length. She still couldn't reach them.

Their affair only just had begun.

She heard a slight groan, rustling from under her, and then she was staring right into a pair of slicing jade eyes. A quirk of her lips upwards slightly, she murmured a "good morning".

He smiled, so bright yet dimming that it hurt to look at him. "Morning, beautiful." He snuggled into her, nose against her collarbone, and she blushed high in red. She never got used to compliments.

"It's almost ten," she stated bitterly, hollowly, like her soul was right now. Empty, empty, empty, until there was nothing left for her to give besides herself.

They were two empty, lost souls, on a dangerous road, stepping to hell.

"I know." The way he held her now indicated that he wasn't ready to leave. He reminded her of a violin, so peaceful and beautiful, playing the most harmonious melody ever. Yet that violin also played something venomous, toxic, as if the sound was strangling her.

She now recalled a distant time ago, when she had competed in a butler contest held by that damn Igarashi, in order to save Maid Latte. And Usui had been her partner. That had been a long, long time ago, so long that the remnants of the memory were fading away like paint on an old canvas. They were memories that pained her to think about, deep in the recesses of her mind, underneath the dull recollections of a past she had to live with. But she liked those memories. That had been a time when everything was simple.

"She's probably waiting for you," Misaki croaked, as rusted as iron. Her fingers buried deeper in his hair; she never wanted to let go.

"I know," he said again, this time deeper, harder, colder. Her eyelids drooped, suddenly tired, more mentally tired than physically.

"What do you tell her?" Because he had to have some excuse, for the past few days.

"A business trip," he replied simply. She glared at the wall, hitting him slightly on the head.

"Idiot. I'd never believe that." He chortled, the sound grating yet hot on her chest.

"She believes it," he stated, almost glad, almost relieved. She was relieved as well, that even though it was wrong, there was a way for this to happen. Him and her, together on the bed, expressing their ever-broken love. She never allowed herself to forget how wrong their romance was.

If she felt so horrible about it, she wondered how he felt, how infidelity felt on him. He was probably drowning. She wanted to save him so badly, but she was there in that endless ocean with him, drowning too. An already broken heart would have difficulty healing a shattered one. And she was tumbling on the road to oblivion with him, too quick and foolish to be stopped.

The road to hell was long, callous, and frightening. There was a toll, and the toll was their hearts; the realization of it all was so, so bitter.

There was sudden silence, none moving, relishing in broken hearts yet warm embraces. She didn't know what to do, and she assumed he didn't either.

"What are we gonna do?" he murmured softly against her skin in question, in painful question. She knew the meaning behind it all too well; there was something underneath it, under the first obvious layer of the voice, a meaning deeper than just words. Words were nothing. Everything was more than just words.

She pretended vaguely that she did not catch the underlying meaning of his question. He did phrase it as if it was normal, a normal nonchalant thing. "Well, I have to go to work. And you should leave..." Again, the words didn't quite suffice. The words were useless, failing to unleash the deep meaning,

They needed more than just words. But actions didn't seem to help them either.

"I know," he said again, and she was almost tired of hearing him say those words. A slight tug of the hand; he stood up, shuffled and fumbled with the blanket, hastily sliding his clothes on. She let the feel of his fingers and the hoarse strain of his voice indent her brain, stay there in her memory forever. At this time, her fate was decided.

She was foolish. He was foolish. Maybe Ayuzawa Misaki should have just stayed away from love like she had planned. Fate loved toying with her.

She looked at him from the corner of her eyes, head stubborn and refusing to turn. Her body was stiff, stuck like she was in worrying about the future. There was no way she could forget the past, focus on the present, hope for the future. For her, there was no future she could look forward to. And the past and present just made her break a little more inside.

"I'll see you later," he mumbled with pressed lips, although it seemed like he didn't want to say those words. They were forced, just like the slight upturn of the corners of his mouth.

She let a glassy look pass her eyes, and then replaced it with playfully furrowed brows and a teasing smile. "You better. I'll hunt you down if you disappear."

He examined her for a second, staring at the glistening ambers under a creased brow, and laughed. "You know, you really shouldn't give me that look when you're like _that_." _That_ meaning naked under the jumble of the sheets, perfectly vulnerable. He looked like he was about to jump on her.

She scoffed, glared, and yelled. "Idiot Usui!" Her exclamation was followed by a pillow thrown at his head, thin fingers clutching the blanket around her chest tighter.

Throwing a smile her way, he left her room without a word, with just a chuckle slowly dissolving into the air and floating away from her.

She looked at where he had just been, and felt like crying.

She buried herself in the sheets and tried not to think.

* * *

Days like these made her regret working two jobs. Days like these made her think of the easy life, the life of not having to pay for an apartment and college. She had wanted to continue living with her mother and Suzuna, but Minako had instructed Misaki to be independent, to enjoy her youth. Suzuna took care of Minako and Misaki couldn't help but feel the burden, feel the guilt.

She walked the somber streets, unfamiliar faces walking passed her and in front of her and through her. Her own face had been starting to look unfamiliar in the mirror, so, so forgotten.

The herd of people walking the sidewalks had decreased since the rush hour; the sun was solemn in the sky, falling down to hide behind the horizon but still bleeding orange and red over the world. The moon was about to resume its reign, and the sky was dimming from a pale blue to a deep purple.

It was a distorted sort of walk, a slouch in her step instead of her usual confident strides. Shoulders slumped, feet aching, hands holding tightly her files and bag; she felt the need to lose herself in her thoughts as she walked.

She stumbled now, heels clicking clumsily against the sidewalk. It was completely dark now, world enveloped in darkness, empty like her. Her body had been hollow, as deep as a ravine yet shallow. There was nothing to fill her mind, pleasant memories resurfacing yet washing away, forgotten like her old self in her mirror. The nice things, the happy emotions, the bright laughs and smiling faces had been pushed in a lonely corner of her mind, easier than it had been to forge them. They had been priceless, rarer than diamonds but useless now, more important than the words she was intent on using to describe them.

Now there was guilt, replacing all those emotions, similar to a divorced man remarrying. The guilt was straining, succumbing, repressing. There was a black hole swirling in her mind, composed of all the emotions she had prayed to never feel. Fate loved to toy with her.

She had trapped herself in this stupid romance, something she never had thought she would ever experience.

But she didn't know how horrible this kind of love felt. She hadn't been prepared for this.

She felt a presence behind her, sweet and bubbly and all smiles, light brown hair bobbing about her chest and cascading down her back in curls. Misaki craned her neck, amber eye wide, mouth parted and expectation etched into the contours of her face.

"Misaki-san!" The accent was too prominent to not notice. A foreign voice, laced with the tone of an Englishwoman, so unfamiliar like the feelings Misaki wanted to forget. She looked at the beaming woman peeking at her from a curtain of brown bangs, and she felt like crying.

Feigning a smile, feigning everything because her smiles were always fragmented, cracking about the corners and masquerading as something greater than it actually was, Misaki turned around completely, and the woman seemed to smile wider, lips spread thin over her teeth.

"It's so nice to see you!" the brunette beamed, hands grabbing Misaki's in a very friendly handshake. But no, she shouldn't have been friendly. Why was she friendly? _Stop being friendly._

Misaki stopped that breaking feeling, and shook her hand with a crooked smile. And then there behind the short woman stood the man that made everything right in Misaki's life but everything wrong as well. A demon, plaguing her emotions, but saving her, a prince in the costume of a monster with piercing jade eyes and a bleeding smile.

"Ayuzawa," Usui greeted, stone and a robotic smile carved his lips, forced and strained, maybe.

Misaki looked back at the woman still holding her hand and looked at her, question and jealousy. Something close to shattered flashed Misaki's mind, along with loneliness and she couldn't decipher the difference between them. Two cruel feelings, the line that separated them blurred and hated, unseen to the eye but so, so _there_.

A prince and a princess, walking hand in hand on the shore, on the way back to the castle; that was how the fairy tale went. Two laughing souls, completed, love accepted and cherished and a ghost of a romance still blooming like a bright flower. There weren't supposed to be two princesses. Usui's princess was his fiancée, in the broad daylight in front of knowing eyes and nosy ears. But at night, _at night_, it was Misaki who was his princess, maybe queen, and the _fairy tale wasn't supposed to go like that. _

The woman recognized the question lingering in Misaki's ambers, and brightened a little more. Misaki was afraid she'd burst. "I am Angelica, Takumi's fiancée."

Misaki tried not to cringe at hearing those words. Words that probably could never tumble out her lips. A sort of cracked sound tore her throat and quickly noticing her slip up she coughed, low and believable, into the sleeve of her sweater.

"Very...nice to meet you," Misaki croaked out, voice lost and layered. She tightened her lips, giving another smile, ignoring the green gaze that was always locked on her, and not the other woman because _he was supposed to be staring at Angelica, not her._

Angelica seemed frantic, worry lines crossing her features. "Ah, Misaki-san! Are you okay?!" Her hands fluttered about the air.

Misaki waved a dismissing hand, reassuring yet plastic. "I'm...okay..." She felt Usui's stare, hard and solid, succumbing.

It wasn't supposed to be like that.

* * *

Misaki leered at the strange brunette from the corner of her lemony gaze, sipping her drink from a bendy straw, nonchalant and wondering.

That girl _wouldn't stop talking._

She was bubbling, like boiling water, so enthusiastic and entertaining. Misaki had no idea where the brunette got all her energy from. She was exploding, as bright as the sun and so lovable. She reminded Misaki of a golden retriever.

"And then he yelled at her! I was so scared!" She made an overdramatic gasp, unwelcome but necessary in its right. And then she giggled, lips clutching her straw and taking a hefty sip.

Usui sat next to her, overwhelmed by the moe-ness, her elatedness almost engulfing him. He seemed suppressed in Misaki's gaze, suppressed and unwanted, murder emanating from his aura.

She shot him an exasperated look, with a slight smile and eyes that said _"Please don't kill her."_

Angelica let her gaze rest on Misaki, babbling halted for a minute, eyes wondrous and questioning, almost pleading. The moon cast its low slow hue on her hair, colors melding together and shivering.

"You're very pretty, Misaki-san." Her accent was prominent, Japanese with a touch of English, and Misaki felt the heat brush high in her cheekbones. A genuine smile flitted the brunette's lips, truthful, no façade or mask or lies. "And nice."

The raven-haired girl sputtered, incoherent words tumbling out her mouth in nervousness. "Ehh...Thank–thank you..." She faltered, bowing her head, thumbs twiddling. "You..." She stopped, words dying in her mouth. Again, everything was worth more than just words. "...are wonderful."

A dull glaze set over her eyes, face blank with impending emotions, the cold hand wrapped around her heart squeezing tighter. Her stomach dropped in her abdomen, throat constricting and choking, she felt like screaming.

"Now I know why Takumi is so fond of you."

Misaki felt a wilting feeling, muscles falling, eyes lidded. Her teeth clenched, lips spreading wide, and fists clenching so much she was bleeding.

She looked at Usui, and he was keen on keeping his eyes stray, falling to the floor, curtained by his bangs but she saw the hurt etched in the creases of his face.

Misaki smiled until her cheeks hurt, and felt like crying.

It was all so unfair.

* * *

Night had fallen, light stripped and navy blue resting. It was completely dark; Usui's face couldn't even be seen amongst the black. It was better that way, her hands touching darkness, lips kissing the invisible. She wished he was invisible. She wished he wasn't real. She desperately wished she hadn't fallen in love with him. Why did she fall in love with him?

But he wasn't invisible, his touches too real, his heat too unbearable to be ignored. She felt like crying, heart falling deeper and deeper, wrapped in black and crumbling to pieces.

They joined together, falling apart at the same time. She kissed him, and he kissed her, passionate and needing and angry and broken. She felt him shattering underneath her fingertips, lingering guilt like boulders on his shoulders.

She felt the ire, blew up in a fire, crackling and wild with rage. She touched him, and he touched her, bodies meeting in lust and heat. She felt the need, felt the hate rumbling within her, his kisses and dangerous touches like sparks on her skin but so, so wrong.

They made love, and they fell apart.

* * *

The next morning, Misaki felt the pain in her legs, and the numbness in her heart.

Usui had long been gone, traces erased, as if he had never been there. But even ghosts left marks, she mused, his marks and presses and fingers still remaining wholly on her skin.

She looked out the window, and she felt that insane feeling running wild inside the pages of her brain. That too-bright-for-comfort smile kept taunting her mind's eye, forever indented into her eyelids. That bright smile, curly auburn locks, happiness and innocence overflowing, ignorance normally a curse but bliss for her; Angelica kept haunting her mind like a lost spirit, tailing her like her own shadow, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

Something somersaulted in her abdomen, and quickly (skin completely bare) she ran to her bathroom, emptying the contents of her stomach. Her head now blared with pain, almost unbearable, surroundings becoming nothing but a blurry mass of colors. Her gut ached, the retching feeling coming back, and she clutched her naked middle.

She slid down the length of her bathroom door, eyes dizzy, and she willed the pain to stop.

Misaki hadn't thought much about this sick episode, brushing it off as nothing. But Ayuzawa Misaki _never_ got sick. _Ever_.

Still, she shrugged it off as nothing, nonchalant.

It was nothing.

* * *

**So...yeah. This story has turned pretty angsty. Oh well. And some plot! Yay!  
**

**I think I'm dreaming. _116 reviews?_ Holy mother of flipping pasta sauce you guys are incredible! I can't even begin...Asdfghjkl. _Thank you!_ :D**

**Just to warn you guys, the next update will be late, but not as late as this one. I have finals coming up...Yeah. And my_ Shameful_ fans...I...don't really know what to say. I'm extremely sorry. **

**Also, I've been wondering. Would you guys be interested in reading a smutty Usui/Misaki story from me? I have an idea...And I've been itching to try to write some legit smut, but...I don't know...I'm nervous. Tell me your thoughts!**

**Long note. Drop a review! Ciao! :)**


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